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Posted: Fri Dec 22, 2006 2:03 am
by Mike Daniels

My son gave me a bookmark
that he made himself in school

First find your tree:
a fine fir perhaps,
or oak for preference
and avoid the yew
that guards the graveyard.

A wooden treat of smiley faces
and varnish, paint and pine.

Look for the straight limbed
and a trunk that rings -
no hollowness here.

With the gift, a demand
for affection, approval.

Now apply the axe,
the adze,
the plane, sandpaper,

I remember every ounce
of sunlight measured in
the fibres of that grain.

Posted: Tue Dec 26, 2006 10:56 pm
by Catherine Edmunds
Fascinating poem. I've read it several times now, and am intrigued by the structure, because each time I read it I hear the 'voices' differently -- especially the one in italics, which has a dark ages feel to it. The contrast is hinted at strongly, between the bookmark on the one hand, and the... what? It's never made explicit. Left to the reader, methinks.